Warmachine

[Machao6]

(this segment may be familiar if any of you read my original feeling-out samples. I'll try and get a continuation done before Christmas.)

JAL’S JOURNEY:

Jal Kang balled his fists obsessively as he awaited his fate. His wrists were shackled with a Cryer containment device. Any attempt to tamper with them would result in his hands being severed. The Zephyr had given him a smooth ride but his arse was numb from perching on a cold metal bench. The sack over his head concealed much. He knew there were guards. The question was, were they lame conscripts, Truebloods who were brutal but at least had personalities, or the damned Cryer clones who were unfeeling and implacable?

He had been here for two hours at least, reliving the ignominious defeat that led to his capture. Fighting in the Dafnese city of Yaris, he and his elite team of special forces had been working to eliminate a high profile target deep within enemy occupied territory. General Vallas had been inspecting the front to get a picture of things with his own eyes, and so Kang and his ten man squad worked meticulously to infiltrate the city. They passed through ruined buildings and skeletal remains of the city, shattered icons of their country now draped with the flags of their occupiers and echoing with the relentless tramp of marching boots. They ignored idling herds of hated clone enemies, passed artillery firing storms of rockets onto their comrades in arms, and turned away from prisoners being thrown against the wall and shot. And they found their man, surrounded by suicidal defences.

Killing him, his staff, and some twenty five to fifty more of his men was easy. A pair of laser-guided strikes neutralised two heavy tanks and sent them to ground, where he and his men shredded them with silenced weapons. For good measure they threw smart mines across the bloody concrete and rushed for their extraction point. But the noise was too much. They were harried from the first building and every firefight delayed them enough for the noose to tighten. Eventually Kang and two survivors staggered out into their extraction zone, no ammo and wounded, only to find themselves staring at a platoon of Clones entrenched all around, twenty foot Overseers pointing their gun barrels expectantly at the door they emerged from. They were taken and captured. After an initial interrogation established that Kang was the leader, his men were disposed of. Then he was sent back for ‘special techniques’. Where that was done though, was anyones guess. Flying for ages now, they were well away from Dafne. Probably back toward Larinth.

He heard the Zephyr’s engines undulate as it prepared to land, and felt the uneasy change in gravity as it started to descend. It touched down gently and then he heard the doors opening. He was dragged to his feet and half walked, half carried out by two powerful guards, presumably clones. He walked across wooden decking into an oppressive, moist air. The sounds of teeming insects or wildlife abounded, it sounded like the zoo. In the distance he could hear machineries, woodsaws whining, engines revving, aircraft ticking over. He was led through a secure electronic door into a building. He was led through more doors, some security checkpoints that he was made to wait at, and at which his fingerprints were taken. Then he was pushed on down some metal stairs and into a much colder, much quieter part of the complex. Here the floor was slimy and uneven, natural cave. Then he was thrown into a cave while a door slammed shut behind him.

Tugging off the hood he could see he was in an artificial hollow carved into natural rock. It was roughly six by six feet, though the walls were uneven. There was no bed save for a dirty rag, and only an ominous hole in the corner, with a standpipe leading to a hatched hole beside the door. There was no privacy. The ‘open’ wall of the cave was armaglass, and inches thick by the look of it. In the armaglass a Impact marks made permanent impressions on its surface where something strong and massive had tried to break out. As he looked, the walls of the cavern were marked with damage. Fist impressions, human shaped. Claw marks where prisoners had desperately tried to tunnel through the rock with their bare hands. Someone had widened the latrine hole considerably, revealing only inky blackness. He spat into the hole but no sound came back except for a muffled noise of rushing water. In any event, it still wasn’t wide enough to fit down. He could get a foot in, maybe. It was warmer than the brig back at Centronom Barracks. There was another cell across the corridor from his own, and from where he was he knew there were other cells but could not see into them. There was no one in the cell opposite. He was here alone, as far as he could tell.

He waited for hours. No guards patrolled, no sounds from above. He took the opportunity to relieve himself while there was relative privacy. Then he decided to try and rest, not knowing when he might get another chance. The floor was cold and clammy, and he quickly relied on the ominously stained rag for its minute comfort. He never really fell asleep, his mind filled with torturous visions of his squadmates and the manner of each of their deaths. He was saved from this subliminal agony by the sound of footsteps in the corridor, and the door opening. As he was raising himself off the floor a pair of Larinthian truebloods rushed in and tazed him. Stunned, a bag was thrust over his head and he was dragged out of the cell and back up the stairs. He could hear people talking quietly, a man and a woman, behind his two jailors.

He was brought to a stop and deposited on the floor, where his feet were shackled separately. Then the shackles from his hands were removed and replaced with cold metal ones that no longer bound his hands together but instead kept them apart.

“Take his hood off” Said a woman with a sharp voice. His hood was pulled away, revealing a brightly lit room with stainless steel panelled walls and a floor with perforated metal decking. It had signs of old blood caking the holes beneath his feet. He knew from the chains this was a torture chamber. But he could see no implements. No tools. His chains were a part of a harness or frame of wrought metal that stood like a square archway above and on either side of him. The chains were incredibly heavy on his wrists and just to shuffle a foot seemed like hard labour. They ran through incredibly heavy-duty rings that fed them in turn to somewhere behind him. There was an ominous, authoritative knocking sound behind him, of wooden blocks or archaic machinery at work. The chains rattled as they were brought to tension, then he felt his arms being raised by the chains as they were pulled taught. Eventually he was pulled into the air, only a foot or so, and the manacles around his ankles were pulled tight enough to prevent him from raising a leg. So suspended, Jal understood grimly that here was an industry of torture. A dedication to the art.

“Leave us” the woman commanded, and the two truebloods left in silence. She stalked in front of him, and he was treated to a gorgeous display. A woman of exotic, opulent beauty stood taller than he thanks to some lethal eight inch stiletto heels on red leather boots that climbed high up her thighs. The legs they encased were muscular, but shapely, and the warm tanned expanse of her upper thigh and buttock undulated with powerful tone. She wore a matching leather one-piece that seemed to rest on her body rather than shape it, displaying the full measure of her dimensions and fitness completely. Flawless flesh bulged from the bodice top, just tight enough to keep a constant pressure on her proud breasts, disguising their fullness with compression. Her shoulders and upper arms were bare, revealing smouldering skin that looked warm to the touch, while long leather gloves ended past her elbows. Her face was a portrait of composed beauty, meticulous make up and hair-setting giving her a regal air. Unfortunately her expression ruined, or perhaps completed, the look. She gave him a moment to bask in her presence before she drew a long breath through her nose, as if quieting a rising temper.

“I won’t lie to you, boy. I’m not here to interrogate you. The army have their own people for that.” She slinked up to him, running her gloved hands across his sturdy body. She passed behind, her hands massaging his shoulders slightly. “I’m here to enjoy you.” Jal couldn’t keep a grin from his face, which she seized upon and traced with a leather-clad finger. Then she brought a knee, swift as a scorpion’s tail, up into his midriff. It felt like a sledgehammer, rocking him back and forth on the taught chains and causing him to wretch miserably while he fought to recover the air in his lungs.

“I’m here to enjoy you, not the other way round.” She rubbed his wounded torso, as if feeling for damage. “Your body...its resilient. They tell me you’re a special forces man. You’ve been trained to resist torture.” She slipped behind him again and this time he wasn’t grinning. Her arm lashed around his neck and locked him into her elbow joint tightly, choking him. She hooked a leg over his hip, clenching their bodies together. “That’s good. I like a man with stamina.” She squeezed his neck so tightly he was worried his spine would break. Then as suddenly as she had attacked, she slipped away again, releasing him to consider his predicament further.

“You’re in for a treat. Some men pay me riches for what I’m going to do to you. But they pay for the security of living at the end. What I enjoy, is testing the limits. My limits. Your limits. I’m fascinated by the act of enduring. I think its such a beautiful quality in people. This land is full of enduring people. The amazons here, they’re...” she sighed sensually, dramatically “...indomitable. I can exhaust myself on them and they still won’t break, they still want more. Such a lovely breed, so strong. Of course, most are too much trouble to keep around for long. They're hard work, and all hard work and no play makes us ...frustrated, don't you think?”

She had walked around him again and now her words were in his ears again. Her whisper felt like the eerie closeness of a crawling spider on his shoulder. “So you're my plaything. You won’t last one minute of what an amazon can stand. I’ll have to be very gentle with you just to try you out.” She crossed in front of him again and stepped right up to him, her bodice brushing against his bare chest. He stared grimly into her eyes trying to read what was going on in there, but she was glassy-eyed, unerringly calm. Serene even.

She stretched her arms above him and grabbed the metal rings his chains were strung through, hanging off the ground by a few inches, then slowly and deliberately raised her legs straight either side of his body. She moved with the complete, practiced precision of a gymnast, not a shudder or a twitch of effort. The movements made her muscles definite, and the only exertion she showed was a long, impatient breath through her nose again. She smiled and cocked an eyebrow as her legs touched his sides, and she made a point of showing her control by stroking him up and down with her leather boots. Her legs wrapped all the way around him but still didn’t close, curling instead at the knee so she sat in a ‘flying lotus’ position around his waist, still hanging her weight from her arms on the rings. Her pelvis touched his. Jal didn’t know whether to find the experience erotic or unnerving. Progressing the hold, her legs coiled like a python around his trunk. She used this position to move him, showing that she had total control of his body. Then, she squeezed.

Jal almost vomited with the overwhelming force she exerted on his lower torso. The pressure was so sudden and so intense that he was paralysed while she clenched, and could only shake and feel himself turning red in the face while the oxygen in his lungs grew impatient to escape. She kept up the hold until the air exploded like a sneeze from his lips. The soldier whimpered feebly as his lungs tried, and failed, to breathe more air back in. Utterly immobilised, the dominatrix smiled warmly and released him, resting her legs loosely on his hips. She made a noise of amusement and satisfaction.

“I love that feeling. The build – the resistance – and then...surrender. Did you enjoy it? Are you in my fan club now?”

Jal retorted breathlessly. “Free BDSM? They told me I was going to a prison camp, not a brothel.”

She flashed a wicked smile and wrinkled her nose at him. “Oh this isn’t a prison camp, little boy. But I do get paid for house visits...”

She straightened her legs, wide off of him again, then brought them together with such force his spittle exploded out across her face uncontrollably. She simply shook her head and intensified her grip on him, prolonging the most intense urgency he had ever felt in his life. It felt for all the world as if he was trapped in machinery, an iron vice. The pressure mounted, slowly, sensually even, until he felt as though his lungs were going to erupt out through his mouth. Each time he thought it couldn’t get any worse, she pushed him further, piquing the squeeze with skilful, gentle, microscopic increases. It wasn't pain. It was panic akin to drowning, or being smoked out of a room. Airlessness and suffocation.

After thirty seconds he was gurning audibly and she laughed at him. She let go of the rings above, letting her full weight hinge on her pressure hold, eliciting a growl of pain from Kang. Then she wrapped her arms gently around his head and nuzzled him into her breasts soothingly, still maintaining the asphyxiating grip.

“Oh, you poor thing. This isn’t even half of what I can do to you. Can you imagine twice this much pressure? I’d cut you in half!” Jal groaned unintelligibly. “Oh don’t worry about the mess you made. I’ve had far worse. It always excites me to get a reaction from my playthings. You’re really adorable when you’re suffocating to death. I’m going to stop now in case I break you.” She released him and for a short while Jal was unable to breathe even when she dismounted completely and wiped her face with her gloved hands. Then she knocked on the door and two pleased-looking Truebloods lumbered through to let her out of the dungeon.

“Since I’m here, I may as well ask...” she purred while he shudderingly, desperately, breathed “...what regiment are you in?”

Jal said nothing, just kept breathing. They already knew the answer anyway from his uniform. This was merely powerplay.

“Oh, you’re going to be a lot of fun, little plaything. Bye for now!” And with a blown kiss, her powerful staccato strides echoed away. The two Truebloods watched her leave appreciatively, before turning their whips and armoured gauntlets toward Jal.

* * * * * * * *

[Machao6]

<Sorry about the faffing about. Happier with the atmosphere of this one.>

It took two hours for the goons to exhaust themselves, and then he was dragged breathless and bloody back to his cell where a bowl of food had been left on the floor. The food was rice with some shoots, berries, and a few nuts cooked in. It was served through a two-way hatch that he was ordered to stand clear of, and a dart gun was pointed through to ensure his compliance. Comparatively considerate to attempt a balanced meal out of the patently limited scraps on offer, he thought. There wasn't enough to count towards his five a day but it did mean he wasn't just eating bland rice. Not a grain escaped his lips. The bowl was made from a form of clay that, when subject to pressure, crumbled in his hands. It wouldn't be good enough to dig with let alone fight with.

He leaned against the rock wall and regretted it instantly as his bruised and lacerated back revolted against the disturbance. When his wounds were most at peace however, it was the uneasy feeling that some lasting damage had been done below his ribs that bothered him. A scissorhold was a feature of many grappling schools, as it cemented control of an opponent's body while the arms did more lethal work, making a hold harder to break. It was rarely the function or purpose of a hold, however. In terms of vital strike points, there wasn't much below the ribs worth striking at if your intention was to disable an opponent. A good blow to the abdomen could stun anyone, but as a finisher you would by default opt for something that targeted airflow, circulation, or range of movement. He found himself wondering if there was some nerve cluster he hadn't been told about. Or had his attractive jailor simply never skipped leg day in her life?

He spent a portion of his day after that gruelling introduction practicing breathing, trying to focus his mind on nothing but the recuperation of his body. Satisfied with his success, he dedicated the remainder of his time to contemplating escape. The obvious vulnerability was when he was being collected for interrogation, which involved a three-man group entering the cell. They would taze him before anything else, then two would bind his arms and legs while a third put a hood over his head. While they were doing that, none of them could operate a weapon. While they were all brawny men and no doubt had some training in self-defence - being vaunted Truebloods and the supposed elite of the Larinthian army - no one was ever prepared for a surprise attack. The question was, could he recover from being tazed quickly enough to launch one? He would need to attempt this plan sooner rather than later, as a few more days of treatment like this and he would be in no condition to overcome anyone, let alone armed and armoured Truebloods. If they were conscripts he would reckon his chances optimistically, but these were an elite, and they were all muscular meatheads with good equipment.

Jal soon learned however that the Truebloods were not the only watchdogs in this place. He was woken from his thin, uncomfortable sleep by a guttural belch that echoed through the modified cavern. Something was being dragged into the room with heavy, meaty footfalls, but before his mind could imagine the scene it crossed his vision. An immense anthropod, fifteen feet of slab-like, turgid flesh that drooped as if melted. It's skin was a putrid grey-green and mottled with dark blotches like liver spots, and textured like dappled leather or shagreen. It's mass bulged out at the gut and hips, sloping off to an unevenly shaped head. It's face held a single black eye and enormous, drooling mouth filled with unhealthy blunt teeth. The thing wore nothing but a leather loincloth made from - hopefully - a large animal hide, and tied with rope. It trudged forward lazily, like a lummock scolded into doing chores, its long, meaty arms nearly dragging on the floor. In its far left hand, partly obscured by body mass, it held a tuft of dark hair. The hair belonged to a barely-dressed female form being dragged along, unconscious presumably as no sound came from her. A woman Jal couldn't see barked a command harshly in Larinthian. "Stop!"

The brute stopped with a grumbled complaint. Another command followed; "Leave!" Nothing happened. The brute turned to face the voice at the end of the cavern but did not release its victim.

"I said, leave!" The massive grotesque looked from the woman trailing by her hair to the direction of the voice with a sort of confused whimper. The commanding voice lost their patience. "Fuck this, taze him."

Two long poles came into view. These were some kind of tazer-lance, attached to backpacks on some very nervous-looking men in unfamiliar uniforms. They weren't clad in the black, gold, white, blue of Larinthian regulars. They wore grey overalls with red armour, and their faces were obscured by goggles and respirators.  As they edged toward the giant it looked from one to the other and shrieked, torn between fear of their lances and the petulant desire to keep hold of its property. The lances closed and touched the monster, causing it to recoil and yelp. It bellowed again, but the lances drove it back, and it finally abandoned the woman to flee to the far end of the cavern. "Keep him there while we lock her up."

Two more guards rushed forward, collapsing their lances that folded double and then clipped onto their backpacks. They picked up the unconscious woman, who despite being inert seemed taller and broader than either of them. Jal could see now that her muscular, full body was no joke as both men grunted and cursed under her weight. Her head lolled round and he caught a glimpse of her beauty, irrepressible despite the bruising and mud. The new prisoner confined, the two guards left and the door sealed shut. They now unclipped and extended their lances to support the two unfortunates keeping the giant at bay. "Ok, the amazon is secure. Lances on standby, let's try recall; Lennox, come!" 

The speaker stepped into view. At first he thought it was a younger twin sister of his sadistic torturer from earlier in the day, but quickly surmised the raven bob hairstyle was clearly in vogue or perhaps some uniform requirement in the Larinthian's strange ranks. She was shorter by a good margin, standing maybe 5"6, and better dressed in camouflaged fatigues, though her jacket was tied by its sleeves around her waist and her sweat-dampened crop top revealed a toned midriff of bronzed skin. At her hip she wore a holstered pistol with a strange grapnel, and on the other hung a coiled of wire or rope, or possibly a whip. Her hair was kept off her face by a simple golden circlet. She ignored Jal as she concentrated on ordering the giant brute, who after a second attempt began cautiously to plod toward her. When it was stood a meter or so away she bravely stepped toward it and reached for its hand. "Good boy." She soothed, waving the lance-wielding guards away with her free hand. "Let's see what else we can catch, come on."

As the woman turned to leave she spotted Jal, but after a moment's surprised recognition, went on her way. Jal listened to her voice fading away; "I heard they sequestered a Dafnese prisoner from the Western theatre, that must be the guy. What do you reckon they're going to do with him...?" 

Jal did not sleep. It wasn't just the noise of their new warden, but the ramifications of the newcomers. Where in the End Times was he? The fact he was imprisoned in a modified cave threw questions enough, for while the Larinthians undoubtedly had many facilities built underground, it was not typically their style to take any old cavern and convert it into a prison. The Larinthians were a race of arrogant, domineering types. They wanted to control the land, to bend it to their will. Building something that made use of a natural feature was...tame of them. It went against their philosophy. The new troops had him at a loss too, for while he knew the enemy was a match for even Dafnese technology, these lances were a new one on him. He had seen clone troopers using tazers on prisoners of war, they were hand-held sidearms, not full on built-for-purposes lances with backpack mounted power sources. The armaglass too was unlike anything he had encountered. It was common enough on aircraft cockpits or vehicle vision slits, but this site betrayed industry and paradox. If they had the industry to manufacture such things, why rely on the crude dimensions of a pre-existing cavern? Would making a facility for purpose really be beyond them?

Then there was the beast. The clones were inhuman monsters - men copied and broken so that their individuality was simply no factor except in so far as deciding how each could support the objectives of the unit. Self preservation and fear had been conditioned out somehow. They had no inhibitions, because they lacked imagination. They were predictable, but also implacable. But this...thing, was a whole new creature, not simply a distortion of a man. Or was it? It was shaped like a man, vaguely. It behaved like a lumbering animal, savage no doubt but also docile. What was it? Why was it?

Lastly there was his unconscious jail-mate. How anyone might have survived any kind of encounter with such a creature was beyond him, but he assumed the woman had been captured by the beast - otherwise, it would have been menials dropping her into a cell, not the strange parade of handlers with electrified lances. How else had it come to have her by the hair, he wondered. So who was she, and where was she from? It was by now commonplace to see women serving in Lexian flight groups, Argonian Militias, Dafnese fireteams and even Myrmad ship crews. But a woman of such stature and build was not commonplace and, in any event, even a tough cookie would be crumbled in a fight with her cyclopean captor. He could only cast conjecture, but these details worried him more than the torture.

Nothing about his stay here was regular. Nobody had checked him in, no one had been taking notes during his S&M session earlier. The one casual question about his regiment was superfluous and intended to test his pliability rather than learn anything useful. Even what he had seen of the troops here was unusual. He had so far not caught a glimpse of any conscripts, and now had been introduced to a whole new division with unfamiliar fatigues who apparently specialised in...giant herding? No officers had come to shake him down, no guards patrolled the cell block. Admittedly the cells seemed impregnable, but he felt more like livestock than a prisoner. These weren't cells, they were pens.

The questions kept him awake for a long time. When he slept, it was despite his troubled mind.

[sgsg69]

wonderful set up, great writing and another marvelous chapter....K++

[Machao6]

<Sorry about the poor showing over the holidays. I will have new work commitments in the new year so I may slow down a bit - especially as everything now is brand new, rather than expanding on existing material. But hopefully this one thickens the plot a bit. Thanks for your ongoing support and encouragement!>

Jal was woken by a leather-shod slap round the face. "Rise and shine darling!" His body reacted instinctively and he was on his feet before his mind had truly reached awareness. The tall tormentor from yesterday was here in the cell with him, and laughed at his fighting stance. "Oh, really?" She baited. Jal paused awkwardly, weighing the situation. There were no truebloods outside the cell. There was no sign of the gargantuan cyclops. It was just him and the cruel beauty in red leather. He might never get an opportunity like this again. She might never skip leg day, but he had been trained in the Shock Wing Cadres. Three months of gruelling physical conditioning in the highest mountains humans could live upon. Close Quarters Combat training from career-hardened professional killers. Though his adversary clearly took good care of herself, he was brawnier than her. His confidence tightened into fists that parted slowly and deliberately into a fighting stance.

Sensing his decision, a cruel smile crossed her lips as she assumed a posture of her own, limbs drifting wide in a graceful dance. Her stance invited an attack but he knew from the way her limbs were gently shifting that it was a trap. He erred on the side of caution and went straight for her face with a flurry of strikes, hoping to blind and disorient her.

The first lunge was deftly evaded by a jink of her head. She moved no more than was necessary to avoid the blow, her left hand grabbing his right wrist. He quickly brought in a follow up strike, a two-fingered gouge aimed at her eyes, and she skillfully thwarted the strike by moving his own arm into its path. Then she grabbed his other arm, tying up his hands . Taken aback by her speed Jal sought to use her own grip on him to throw her to the ground, wrenching his arms round and over to the left, but instead of resisting her body bent with his force as she raised one leg high. His force redirected beyond his control, he teetered off-balance. As her centre of gravity moved she simply transferred her weight to him by wrapping that long leg around his arms and gripping with the other, so that not only was he rolling forward with his own attack, her own weight was now contributing to that inertia. When they fell Jal was locked into an armbar that she teased him with painfully. He had both hands inside her leg hold and managed to prevent her from locking him in completely, though he was still prone and she still had full control of one of his arms.   

She laughed as he resisted the break. He dug a thumb into a pressure point on her calf, trying to gain an opening, but found only rock-solid muscle there. Rather than go for the shoulder as the setup of her hold suggested, she contented herself instead to concentrate on prising his index finger out. He realised what she was about too late and could only lunge desperately as she broke it, scuffing them both about the floor and allowing her to lock her legs around his arm. Then she went for his third finger, laughing as he tried to shake her off more and more tiredly. He managed to force himself standing and, though her control was considerable, she was unable to knock him back off balance and he rose with her hanging off his arm. Just as he prepared to scrape her off with a foot to her neck, she changed tactics again, forsaking the hand and choosing now to lever her body for a throw just as his foot raised to turn the tables. Her body undulated like a whip as she lurched under him, back arching while her legs clutched and hauled him over onto the hard floor. It was no move he had ever been taught about.

He was in exactly the same situation as before, her hold now cemented in thanks to the momentary shock and stunning of his landing. He lasted five minutes of brutal agony until she exerted her full power and leverage, snapping his elbow joint as simply as a twig. She released him to his howl of pain, laughing at him as he lumbered to his feet, then ducked under an enraged swing with his left hand and locked him in a half-nelson. He tried to use his body weight to check her off balance, but she deliberately held her ground as if to prove his efforts were wasted. Then, with another well-timed shift of gravity, her legs were around his waist and she was squeezing hard. Jal rammed her into the cold rock wall as hard as he could, striking her head and shoulders hard against it once, twice, three times and causing her to stifle a moan of pain. In response her legs closed tighter and tighter still around his body, driving the air out of his lungs until he could only press her feebly against the wall. She bared her teeth as she squeezed harder, driving him slowly down to one knee. He had craned his left arm, locked at the elbow by her two-handed hold, so that he could get a thumb into her eye. But as he reached across her face for that desperate purchase she simply reasserted her hold, ducking out of reach and seizing his thumb with one hand.

It broke a moment later. Then she levered her hold on his shoulder and slammed him into the ground face down. With a vindictive snarl she popped his left arm out of its socket and waited while he groaned in agony. As he started to wriggle up onto his knees she landed a kick in his abdomen and another spinning into the back of his head, smashing him back into the floor completely stunned.

"Enough foreplay. You've annoyed me with your insolence. You can start begging now."

She grabbed him by the hair and pulled him off the ground where she could slap him back and forth with practised, ringing blows. The slaps became angry strikes with closed fist as she worked on his teeth, brow, cheekbones and nose that soon bloodied. Whenever he made to move or resist, she drove a brutal knee into his midriff, then hauled him up for more. Boring of the repetition, she paused to look at the blood smearing dark against her red leather glove. "Ugh, you've leaked your disgusting blood all over me, you Dafnese whelp." She released him to wipe the glove against his body, demonstrating his helplessness. Then her hands were around his throat and she was pressing her thumbs into his lifelines. He couldn't feel his arms accurately except for a morass of searing pain, but nevertheless flapped his useless limbs against her as he writhed in her grip, but she controlled him utterly. As his sight began to dim she released him to gasp and choke bloodily on the floor. In a final spite she kicked him in the gut again, causing him to curl into a foetal ball.

"Bested so easily. Dafnese elite indeed. Don't ever try your luck with me again. You don't have any." The bronze woman took a moment to compose herself while Jal gasped gratefully on the floor.  "How did you know that General  Vallas would be inspecting the front on the day you killed him?"

"Briefed...by intelligence agents...." Jal rasped.

"And where did their intelligence come from?"

"...not sure. Assumed...they had aerial...surveillance."

She kicked him in the stomach again. "Not good enough. The capabilities of your spy drones would tell you a column is moving, not a person. How did you know he would be there? If you lie to me again I'll break something else."

Jal summoned himself. "...we didn't know...he would be there...he was a target...of opportunity...during a sabotage run... You signposted him...a blind man could have known... he was...important enough to kill..."

She digested his words with a rueful nod and an impatient tapping on her leather-clad thigh. Then she snapped the back of her hand across his face, the blow sprawling him onto his back. Standing inside the spread of his legs, she took one and ensnared it with her own in a leg lock. "Are you sure about that?" she demanded, poised to drop her weight on the lever she had set up. When Jal said nothing further, she dropped. The leg didn't break at once, but the pain cut through the soreness of his recent injuries all the same. Then she exerted herself on the lever, bridging to elevate the lock, and something in his knee joint gave with a pop and a fresh shoot of agony. Jal screamed.

"I know you're lying. Tell me the truth."

Jal's mind was too busy with deciding which of his shattered limbs required the more immediate attention to formulate any kind of response. In just a few moments his skills had been effortlessly bested by an adversary of eerie speed and strength. He had no doubt that his moves would have taken most adversaries by surprise, but this cruel beauty had disabled him. That thought dragged fear with it like a rising bile from the pit of his stomach. How would he recover from these injuries in this cell? Was his life really of no value to his captor? A grim realisation began to settle that he was no longer a Prisoner of War. He was something else, something less. A commodity. A plaything.

"If you know I'm lying..." he hissed through gritted teeth "...why are you wasting your time?"

She extricated herself from her lock quickly and slapped him again. "Because it's my time to waste, worm! You think I'm doing this because someone has told me to? Picking you apart limb by limb is the most fun I've had in days..."

She was interrupted by a feint banging from the corridor. Jal followed her distracted gaze to where the woman in the cell opposite was hammering on the cell wall. Seeing her upright and in motion momentarily anaesthetised Jal, who lost himself in the blemished beauty of her expressive face, her tangle of brown hair clinging across a perspiring brow, large naked breasts swinging as she thumped at the cell wall angrily. Her body was incredibly toned, and as she struck her muscles rippled from her abdominals to her shoulders and along her arms. She caught Jal's gaze and her intensity struck fear in his heart, even though she was locked away and an immediate threat was in the room with him. Her animosity, her emotion, her power seemed to focus on him for a moment and he felt her gaze soften imperceptibly. Then she was raging at the armaglass wall again.

"They didn't tell me you had a playmate..." his jailor remarked "...and such a beauty at that!" She exited his cell, locking it behind her. Jal couldn't get off the floor, let alone make a bid to escape. She crossed to a panel in between the cells opposite and spoke to it.

"Laboratory? It's Pythona. Get me some Venom in the holding cells, immediately." She paused to cast an odd glance over Jal. "And a medical team."
The voice on the other end was too muffled for him to make out, but they didn't sound happy. The sadist however paid it no heed, instead glowering at the other woman raging in her cell. The two faced one another and the prisoner paused, hands on the glass, teeth bared and panting. The jailor simply stared at her, placing one of her hands over one of the captive's on the glass. Then she turned to Jal.

"See? This is what I was talking about yesterday. Indomitable. Do you have any idea what it took to bring her here? I've seen Amazons singlehandedly destroy armoured vehicles and platoons of troops. I once watched one pit herself against an oncoming tank and bring it to a standstill. They will do anything to prove their might. They fear nothing, except perhaps the loss of their precious masters..." The Larinthian Mistress paced up and down, her opulent heeled boots clicking on the stone floor. "You've no idea have you? You have no idea of the war going on here, where our real attentions are focussed. Our real goals. The war for your sad little democracy is just..." she threw a hand idly at him, searching for the word "...for completeness' sake. To thin out the serfs a bit. But she's the real prize. She, and all of her genetic sisters. Not even the Amazons know their own worth to us. But they will, in due course."

Jal's consciousness was heavily dulled, but the sound of the door at the end of the passageway opening piqued his over-taxed senses. He made out rushing footsteps and a feint whirring noise, but the new voice that followed startled him, the amazon in the cell opposite, and the jailor momentarily. It sounded for all the world like a mechanical bird, a cross between radio static and megaphone. It wasn't human, it was electronic.

"HOW DARE YOU INTERFERE WITH MY SPECIMENS! THIS YEAR I HAVE LOST ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY SIX DAYS OF QUANTIFIABLE STUDY TO YOUR LURID DEGENERACY. IF YOU WISH TO WASTE YOUR TIME SATISFYING YOUR BIZARRE URGES YOU SHOULD FIND A PATRON TO ESTABLISH YOUR OWN BASE AND CAPTURE OPERATIONS. YOU ARE MORE THAN CAPABLE OF SEDUCING SOME HALFWITTED NOBLE FOR THIS PURPOSE, WHY DO YOU PERSIST IN LEECHING FROM MY STUDIES IN THIS REVOLTING MANNER?"

"Vizier-General, what an unexpected delight. And you come bearing compliments no less..." The jailor purred while rushing medics brought a gurney into Jal's room and began assessing his injuries. The door was wide open, but Jal was by now throbbing with pain and quite incapable of moving in any progressive manner. His eyes closed as the medics painfully determined where the breaks were and set about securing him to a stretcher.  "...I hasten to remind you that I am here at the specific request of  High Steward Badduk, to ensure that due dilligence is followed at all times by your...irregular staff here, Midas."

As Jal opened his eyes again he could see the new speaker through the open doorway and for a moment assumed he was hallucinating. A small cowled figure was huddled upon a four-legged platform, resembling something akin to a wrought-iron table. The legs moved with surprising grace, effortlessly treading in any direction to avoid the blithe arrogance of the jailor as she sauntered to and fro. He could not see the face inside the cowl, only two blue lights where eyes might be. The strange mobile platform had a variety of appendages folded against its circular edge, one or two of which gesticulated as a person might while talking. Unhappy with this new information, Jal closed his eyes again as the medics lifted him - agonisingly - onto the stretcher.

"YOUR BANISHMENT TO THIS FACILITY IS NO SECRET TO ME, PYTHONA. YOUR MYRIAD INDISCRETIONS NO DOUBT INTERFERRED WITH THE PLEASURE OF HIS HIGHNESS. THE 'SPECIFIC REQUEST'  OF THE HIGH STEWARD ALSO DETAILED THE SURPRISING ATTRITION AND CASUALTY RATE OF THE PALACE GUARD DESPITE NO INSURGENCY IN THE CAPITAL. ROYAL CONCUBINES TOO WERE AFFECTED. YOU MAY FOOL THE RANK AND FILE VASSALS OF THE STATE HERE WITH YOUR PRETENTIONS OF AUTHORITY BUT I AM IN FULL COMMAND OF THIS FACILITY AND MY TOLERANCE FOR ERROR IS PRECISELY TWO PERCENT. IN ONLY FOUR WEEKS YOU HAVE REDUCED THE EFFICIENCY OF MY PROGRAMMES BY NINETEEN-POINT-FOUR-SEVEN PERCENT. THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE."

The jailor - or Pythona as the newcomer called her - sauntered carelessly away from her accuser while purring her reply."As I recall, Midas, you rather enjoyed my tolerance studies. You seemed very eager to measure everything about me and the specimens we were testing."

The walking platform started forward indignantly. "THAT DATA WAS USEFUL! WHAT DATA HAVE YOU PRODUCED FROM THIS PATHETIC LAPSE IN SELF CONTROL?"

By now the medics had administered local anaesthetics, which didn't help Jal to stay awake but did mean it wasn't prolonging his own suffering just doing so. He found himself watching the argument outside his cell as it became clear he was being spared for some other fate. Pythona had her back to the cowled figure and was waving her hand dismissively. "This is just tenderising. No one can withstand me forever. Once the necessary atmosphere of hopelessness and subservience has been established, your subjects will be totally pliant. You won't have to waste energy, guards and machines in trying to restrain them. You think that any material cost is acceptable to get your results, but mine is a cheaper way in the long run."

"YOU CAN DISGUISE YOUR PERVERSIONS HOWEVER YOU LIKE. LEAVE MY SPECIMENS ALONE. IF IT WILL STOP YOU FROM INTERFERRING I CAN ASSIGN A PROCUREMENT UNIT TO BRING YOU YOUR OWN SAMPLES. YOUR RAMPANT DEBAUCHERY NEED NOT AFFECT MY WORK THEN. FOR NOW I HAVE TO WAIT UNTIL THIS SUBJECT IS HEALTHY BEFORE CONDUCTING ANY FURTHER TESTS, THANKS TO YOUR UNMITIGATED EXCESSES."   

Pythona laughed, a rich and scornful sound. "Oh that's alright, he's boring anyway." She turned back to the caged amazon who was now staring in a mixture of disbelief and disgust at the huddled figure on his walking plinth. The torturer caressed the glass with a leather-sheathed finger. "I want this one."

"UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCE!" The plinth trotted until it barged between the sadist and her captured quarry, waving clawed appendages that snapped energetically while she yielded some space. "WE ARE LONG OVERDUE RESULTS ON THE SYNAPTIC PSYCHO-SOCIAL CONDITIONING LEFT BY THE FANTERAN PROGENITORS. MARSHAL BARRABUS HAS SCALED BACK CAPTURE EFFORTS WITH HIS FORCES DUE TO THE LOGISTICAL DEMANDS OF HIS CONSTRUCTION PROJECTS. CATCHES LIKE THIS WILL BE RARER MOVING FORWARD UNTIL THE AUXILLARIES ARRIVE IN GREATER NUMBERS AND OUR NEW METHODS ARE ROLLED OUT TO THEM. KEEP YOUR LEGS OFF MY TEST SUBJECTS - GO AND PLY YOUR TRADE IN THE FIELD IF YOU MUST. PERHAPS YOU CAN HELP TO IMPROVE THE CAPTURE SUCCESS RATE." Pythona assumed an exaggerated sulking stance, fidgeting with her arms behind her back and swinging one leg idly as she pouted at the floor.
"AS FOR THIS ONE, I WILL REVOKE YOUR PASSCODES TO THIS FACILITY IF YOU CANNOT CONTAIN YOURSELF. IT WILL BE MY HEAD THAT ROLLS WHEN HIS HIGHNESS IS UNABLE TO EXPLOIT THE BOUNTIFUL LABOUR AND LEISURE PROSPECTS THAT THIS REGION PROMISES."

At this the torturer laughed. "Oh Midas, you don't have a head to lose! I'll be sure to tell dearest Rex you did everything in your...crippled...artificial...desperate power to oblige his ambitions." She punctuated her barbs with caresses, along the back of his cowl, around the perimeter of his plinth, and finally by shoving the plinth away so that it had to jog to regain its balance. The medics looked around in concern, but the glowing lights beneath the cowl eventually steadied and seemed to narrow on the sadist.

"A LOT OF THINGS DISAPPEAR IN THIS PLACE, PYTHONA. YOU CAN BE ONE OF THEM."

"But there's an easier way, darling Midas...I could simply help you to help His Highness? Why ever didn't you tell me you were about to start working on the Sacred Bond? Why, this is highly fortuitous! Perhaps I can finally show you that my talents have a place in projects such as this."

"DON'T BE ABSURD. THIS WORK DEMANDS PRECISION, NOT BRUTALITY."

"Oh, but they are brutes, Midas..." now the jailor was leaning on the plinth suggestively, filling the hunched Vizier's vision with her body. "...and I understand brutish things, as you've made plain. Give me five minutes of your time and let me explain how I can help you with this work. I think you'll find I'm just full of ideas when it comes to understanding people..." She all but steered the plinth around to leave with her. The shrill electronic noise of the reply faded as they left the cell block.

"YOU CHEAPEN YOURSELF WITH THIS FUTILE DISPLAY, BUT I AM OPEN TO IDEAS ABOUT HOW TO EXPLOIT THE SACRED BOND. IT IS TRUE MY APPROACH TO THIS PROBLEM WILL BE HINDERED BY SCIENTIFIC METHOD, BUT YOUR FIELD IS MOST CERTAINLY INTERPERSONAL RELATIONS.."

Jal had the feeling his physicians had been eavesdropping as much as he had been, as they exchanged significant glances at their superiors' departure and grumbled about it while administering an injection that sent him to blissful unconsciousness. His last impressions were of being moved on the gurney to some other part of the base. Corridors. An elevator. Then nothing at all.

[Machao6]

<Hi gang, sorry about the protracted absence. I take a while to adjust to new things and don't like too much on my plate at any one time. Lockdown has provided me with rather more time to write my way out of the bottleneck I found myself in with ideas. So here's hoping I can keep things flowing, albeit at a reduced pace to before.>

When the commando came round he was in a different place, white and clinical. He moved his arms beneath him to sit up from the bed, and felt a stab of pain, and remembered the agonies and fear of being bested so easily by the sadistic jailor. But his limbs were intact. Painful, but intact. Sleeve-like wraps sheathed his bare limbs, a strange plastic mesh that made his elbow and knee joints stiff to move.

It was impossible to say how long he had been under, or what they had done to him. The room was furnished with a white table that seemed to rise from the floor without joints or rivets. Two chairs - simple, one-piece plastic things. The only other item in the room was the bed he was lying on, which was equally unremarkable save for its generous size and seemed to be made from one cast of plastic that rose from the floor as if part of the geography of the room. No rivets, screws or bolts to be found, the sheets were precisely fitted, and the duvet was thin and light. Air conditioning blew a gentle and refreshing draft in from a hissing fixture that seemed to be part of the ceiling, not merely a panel placed among tiles. With the exception of the dull, poor-quality metal, and some panels lined with chromed trim, all was white.

There was no clock.  He paced the room, familiarising himself with it. Twenty paces across, ten wide. Those panels trimmed in chrome were tamper-proof, owing to the electric shock he received that made him regret tampering with their fixtures, and the ensuing pain seemed to seep into every fracture and crack of his injured limbs. He could hear a rushing sound like rain or steam, but it might have been the sound of his own racing blood as he wrestled with panic and confusion.

He had no idea if it was day or night outside, or if he was even in the same location. He felt physically sore and tired, his wounds ached, but his mind was racing and refused to rest. He tested both chairs - too sturdy to break, uncomfortable to lean back on. He checked under the bed, where it was cleaner than a cadet's boots. The bed was immovable, and he came to rest it and contemplate his situation. He acknowledged that isolation was probably the biggest peril in the room with him. He was separated now from anyone and could not divine anything from outside the room. He found his thoughts wandered, from his foolhardy fracas with the jailor, to the warmth and strength of her thighs squeezing his chest, to her argument with the cowled midget on the walking plinth. They were arguing about the woman in the cell. The dark-haired beauty in the cell opposite. Her muscular physique, attractive proportions and energetic defiance railing against the indestructible glass wall of her cell. More time passed as Jal lost himself recalling everything he could about her, until he was interrupted by a harsh, synthetic voice piping into the room from a source unknown. 

"AH, YOU ARE AWAKE. EXCELLENT." Some distortion followed the speaker and Jal realised this was some kind of intercom, searching frantically for a source in the ceiling. There were several suspect articles on the ceiling - similar fixtures with vents and the chromed trim. He thought he might get his fingers inside those vents without touching the electrified guard-fittings. He jumped for them but it was too high.

"ORDINARILY WE WOULD USE YOUR ACCLIMATISATION PERIOD AS A BASELINE STUDY OF YOUR INTELLIGENCE, BUT TIME IS PRESSING. PERMIT ME TO SAVE YOU SOME TIME. THIS ROOM WAS DESIGNED BY MYSELF TO BE INESCAPABLE. YOUR EVERY NEED WILL BE PROVIDED FOR AND YOU HAVE NOTHING TO FEAR BUT NON-COMPLIANCE. IT MAY INTEREST YOU TO KNOW THAT YOU TAMPERED WITH THE FIXTURES FASTER THAN EIGHTY NINE PERCENT OF PREVIOUS OCCUPANTS. HOWEVER, YOU HAVE NOT YET LOCATED THE BATHROOM."

"Oh." Jal found that even with the chair, the ceiling was just too high. It seemed lower than it was thanks to a trick of the light. He stepped off the chair, noting that the voice had not remarked on his failure. "Is that electrified too?"

"YOU JEST, BUT YOU ARE MOST FORTUNATE. I HAVE SPARED YOU FROM THE IGNOMINY OF DYING TO SATISFY A SADISTS CARNAL NEEDS. INSTEAD, YOU WILL BE EMBARKING ON A LANDMARK SCIENTIFIC STUDY WITH ME, AND TREATED WELL. I HAVE BEEN OFFERED MANY THINGS TO DELIVER TO WORTHY PATRONS WHAT I NOW BEGIN WITH YOU. IN TIME YOU WILL REALISE THAT COMPROMISING YOUR PRIVACY AND FREEDOM ARE MINISCULE FEES FOR PROTECTING YOU FROM THE RAVAGES OF A WAR YOU CANNOT WIN, AND THE PREDATIONS OF TROPHY-HUNTING IMBECILES. BETTER TO SERVE SCIENCE, THAN LIVE OUT THE REST OF YOUR DAYS AS A SLAVE. ALREADY I HAVE MENDED IN TWO DAYS, WOUNDS THAT SHOULD HAVE TAKEN MONTHS TO HEAL. YES THEY WILL BE UNCOMFORTABLE FOR SOME TIME, BUT EVEN THE COMPOUND BREAKS IN YOUR HAND HAVE BEEN REJOINED. ANOTHER TECHNOLOGICAL TRIUMPH, THAT REGENERATIVE GAUSS ON YOUR WOUNDS. NOT MY WORK, THOUGH I HAVE MADE SOME MODIFICATIONS OF MY OWN. IT WAS NOT I WHO WOUNDED YOU SO, BUT IT IS I WHO HAS HEALED THE HARM DONE. LET THIS BE THE FOUNDATION OF OUR WORKING RELATIONSHIP."

"So what is it that you need me to do?" Jal prompted the disembodied voice, which he now recognised as that of the Vizier-General his jailor had been bickering with. He grew tired of the enemy's proselytizing and wanted to know their purposes. There was a long pause before any reply came, such that the Dafnese Commando noticed the rushing sound he noticed earlier had subsided while the disembodied voice had been talking.

"THIS IS A SOCIAL STUDY. YOU AND THE OTHER OCCUPANT WILL BE OBSERVED."

"Other occupant...?" Jal started, but as he spoke one of the wall panels at the far end opened and his voice caught in his throat.

For out of the steam came a woman of familiar, striking stature and beauty. Her body rippled with relaxed muscle that seemed to smooth into her sleek curves. Her brown hair was tousled and weighted by moisture and her naked body glistened with residual water.  No longer bruised and scuffed, she swept her hair out of her face with a purposeful shake and looked back at her admirer. Jal was mesmerised in the slowing moment at this momentary eye contact, and he felt as exposed as if it were he with no clothes. He averted his gaze, looking at the floor like some embarrassed child. He tracked her peripherally as her feet slapped against the plastic floor toward one of the chairs, where she sat and leaned on the small table in silence. He could hear her hot, angry breaths and feel the tension of muted rage emanating from her.

Jal looked up at the ceiling awkwardly. "So what do want us to do?" He shouted to no one, expecting the Vizier-General to reply, but nothing happened.

* * * * *

She couldn't speak Dafnese. Or Argonian. Or Lexian. And when he spoke Larinthian she understood enough to became aggressive and held him up against the wall by the throat. After convincing her that he was of no threat - a contrary instinct aided by his stiff-limbed injuries - she eventually returned to her silent brooding. The brooding escalated to frustrated tampering as she explored the room, testing fixtures and receiving shocks that didn't seem to worry her as much as they had Jal. She toyed with the door of the bathroom, and as she tested the limits of its swinging axis he noted it was designed to have no breaking point, swinging flat with the walls either side and offering virtually no clearance between ground or ceiling. The hinges were unlike anything he had ever seen, heavy-duty and folding-jointed. She pulled at the door and her exertions, save for a tiny squeak of metal, served only to flex her powerful physique.

With an irritated sigh she clattered along the walls, finding the hollow ones and tugging at their fixtures only to receive more shocks. Then she redoubled herself and heaved on one, standing the electrocution for some seconds before it seemed to increase and throw her across the room. She seemed to meet this increased threat with proportionate anger, hurling herself against the wall with a sickening crash and hammering at it with her fists. Nothing, save for a scrape of blood where her flesh lost the contest with the unusual polymer. She stared at the wall in seething, breathless anger for a time, then seized one of the chairs and smashed it into the wall. To the surprise of them both, the chair simply bent under the powerful blow, challenging her balance and rebounding off the wall.  it sprang back into shape with a rubbery twang as she staggered back. The amazon then proceeded to study the chair with interest, wrestling with its upturned legs to try and snap them off, but they bowed and bent, and twisted, all at considerable expense of effort to the muscle-bound beauty. Placing the chair back at the table in embarrassed contemplation, she sucked her bloodied knuckles clean.

Jal felt the peculiar helplessness of spectatorship subside and frowned. There was only one bed, queen sized. Consternation and concern quickly bullied away a pang of excitement at this prospect. He decided to hobble to the bathroom to see what was in there. His sudden movement drew her attention but, seeing him limp stiffly by, she paid him no further heed. The bathroom was surprisingly large for prison accommodation, but its features were sparse. The plumbing was all concealed behind the strong walls. Shower water came from a grille cut into the substance of the ceiling itself, offering no hatch, fixture or fittings to be interfered with.  An automatic sensor above detected movement, which he found by accident when it discharged a gout of soap onto his shoulder followed by a stream of warm water that disappeared into rivulets cut into the shower floor that led to thin slits in the bottom of the wall. The toilet also seemed to operate automatically, having no flushing mechanism to be seen or used. It's seat was fixed and a urinal was built into the wall adjacent. There was no sink. Shelves that seemed to rise from the floor like the bed, toilet and table, offered fresh linen in units maybe as tall as a pair of hands one over the other. Examining these fabrics, Jal found they were loose-fitting, basic clothes. Bedsheets, underwear, towels, gowns, and a comfortable-feeling pyjama-like two piece suit. He picked the smaller set and found it to be exactly to his measurements, a disconcerting thought but a welcome comfort. He brought the other set which were presumably made for the amazon, and hazarded to lay them on the table for her.

His gesture seemed to take her by surprise, and she angrily swatted the fabrics to the floor and rose. Jal held his hands up and backed away to the bathroom again, deciding he may as well finish showering since he was covered in soap. The woman snarled something as he left, so she wasn't mute, but it was no language he had ever heard in his life.

There was a mirror in the bathroom and as he looked at himself he found he could scarcely recognise the man he saw. His hair had been shaved off and his face, while not as battered as he expected, showed signs of healed bruising and stitched cuts. He seemed thin and powerless, a far cry from the capable elite he had been last time he looked in a mirror. The proof of his weakness came to him then in waves, losing his team one by one in their deadly mission, failing to protect the survivors when they were taken prisoner, failing to best his jailor who so effortlessly overwhelmed him and ruined his body. Now he was completely trapped by an enemy who had anticipated his every move, unable to even piss without being observed, forced to share living confines with a scary woman who, he had no doubt, could pull his arms off like a fly if she got irritated. Which didn't seem to take much provocation, as she got annoyed by inanimate objects. He blinked stinging tears away as a bottomless sensation of dread rose from within.

Then there was writing on the mirror. Luminous blue lettering, as might be found on an LCD or electronic device. He checked behind in case it was some hidden message from a previous tenant written on the wall, but it was only on the mirror. Or just behind the mirror. Astonishingly it was in Dafnese, and Jal's heart leaped as he began to read. Then he realised the leap was off a cliff as he comprehended what it said.

"There is nothing you can do in this cell that I cannot observe. I will use this mirror to deliver instructions for your eyes only. Your cell mate cannot read them, and will not see them. Failure to observably comply with these instructions will lead to penalties, including but not limited to sleep deprivation, food stoppages, light deprivation, water rationing and manipulation of climate controls to unfavourable extremes. You will be reminded of your instructions here every day. Ignorance will be treated as non-compliance.

Food will be served at precisely 0800, 1300 and 1900. Collect it from the shelving behind, where you retrieved your clothing from. Laundry to be replaced can be left in these units.
Completion of tasks will lead to expanded facilities and luxuries. Your first task is to foster trust in your cell mate, and in so doing, myself.

- Vizier-General Midas Hakimi"

Jal instinctively looked up, searching for a camera or something he could express his outrage to. But there was only the indestructible white polymer with its keyhole camera apertures and sealed-grate speakers and water channels. The nightmare was real, there was no escaping it, and this was his life until he could figure a way out somehow. As he fought down the rising frustration and panic, he noted two gems of information. Firstly, he could mark time by when the meals were delivered. Second, his adversary had given up a name. That was unusual. Normally you would never risk a captive having a name to remember you by.

But this was no ordinary jail, and that meant neither of the occupants were ordinary prisoners. Jal felt a shred of hope in knowing that eventually, their options would diversify as the enemy's aims became clear through the instructions he was expected to obey. If he could keep himself sane, and keep his cell-mate from killing him in a fit of rage, eventually an opening would show itself.

[Gear]

Looks like Jal's hit the cellmate jackpot!

I'm enjoying your work, hope this story gets more attention!

[ArkhamAsylum]

It's great to see that you are continuing this awesome story. I'm looking forward to the following parts.

[Machao6]

<thanks for your supportive comments guys, it does me the world of good. I have to remind myself that I'm writing a complete fantasy, and as its so niche I sometimes fear people will be like...what the hell is this guy smoking.

Anyways. This ones a bit of a rollercoaster as I need to move the plot along.>


His first offering was the pressed clothing from the laundry shelf. He tentatively set the clothing down on the table in front of her, causing her to look up angrily. She inspected the clothes like an animal pawing at carrion, assessing whether it was suitable or not. She discarded most of the garments and squeezed into a sports bra and shorts in drab grey, sparing not a second thought for Jal who diplomatically averted his gaze. The other garments were strewn where they lay, unfolded and unwanted.

He decided that he had better not fall into the habit of bringing his cellmate their clothes and dinner, in case she mistook him for some kind of butler. His next offering was privacy and space. There was no escaping the close confines of their incarceration, but he did his best to keep a distance from the woman who, for all he knew, had endured horrors when she was taken captive. She seemed to regard him as a harmless bystander - as a person might ignore a fleeing squirrel on their morning jog. Several times their gaze met, and Jal tried to smile cordially, but the statuesque brunette simply scowled and returned to her brooding. Quite what she was thinking so hard about, the commando wasn't sure he wanted to know, but eventually boredom overtook him and he dared to approach.

What followed was the longest game of charades he had ever played or heard of. He started by pointing at himself and saying his name clearly, "Jal", and then gesturing exaggeratedly for her to do the same. After a wary glare, a surprisingly gentle voice mumbled something that sounded like "Minowa-May".

"Minowa?" Jal repeated carefully. The girl shook her head. "May?" He pressed on. She shook again and he wasn't sure what he had pronounced wrong. She seemed upset and frowned, not at him. Then abruptly she pointed at him and said his name.

"Jal."

"That's me!" he nodded cheerfully, but couldn't think how next to break the ice. The language barrier made it hard to be funny. She smiled back at him and pointed at the chair opposite expectantly. When the soldier sat, assuming it was an invitation to join her at the table, she smirked and shook her head, rising from her own chair and pointing at it. She pointed at him and said his name again, then pointed at the chair.

"It's a chair, what do you want me to do with it?"

She shook her head and tried again, holding up one finger and pointing at the chair with the other. Jal looked from her intense, amused gaze to her hand and the chair.

"Chair?" He said, hopefully.

"Chair" she repeated, pointing at the furniture. Then she pointed at the table, and Jal understood with astonished delight. It had never occurred to him to try and learn her vocabulary in such a simple way, and that was exactly what she was doing with his. They went through the items in the room, covered its dimensions such as walls, floor and ceiling, and then their game became more abstract as they moved on to body parts and nouns.

He had expected to have an uphill battle and a scary time trying to live around this woman, who's anger seemed to match her muscles. But her transition through even this convoluted dialogue was remarkable. It was hard to put the brute hammering at the walls in the same head as the playful woman who now held out a handful of her hair for him to name. She was laughing as though she didn't know when she might next get the chance, and Jal realised he was doing the same.

They were interrupted by a short, jarring chime across the intercom. The soldier expected to hear the mechanical voice of the Vizier-General again, telling them they were having too much fun or some such, but there was nothing more. The room filled with the smell of food, but before Jal could indicate where to collect from the girl seemed to follow the scent. He had expected her to take both plates or otherwise assert herself here, but although he had purposefully fallen behind she stopped and gestured for him to take his plate first. He realised he'd already branded the woman a barbarian on account of her unbridled rage, but here was courtesy and civility such as might be found anywhere else.

Dinner was substantially better than the paltry rice bowl in the previous cell. This was curried chicken with flat loaves and mushrooms tossed in rice. There was a pitcher of delicious fruit juice and a yoghurt for dessert. They continued their game of point-and-name with the items on the table - their cutlery, which was made of flimsy plastic, their plates which were metal, the pitcher and glasses, and the items comprising the meal. She seemed adamant on learning Dafnese, rather than trying to teach him her own language, although he did try to put things back on his cellmate. He found that the words bore little resemblance to any of the several languages he had studied, and found it hard to recall their pronunciation. Meanwhile, the brunette seemed to hear a thing once and be able to lock it in place, excitedly repeating it as if to show what a good student she was.

Eventually they tired of their game and sat in contented silence for a time. The woman studied Jal and touched the stiff cast on his arm. "Arm." She declared, correctly.

"Yes." Jal nodded, recalling the ease with which he had been bested by the sadistic jailor. The girl showed him her closed fist.

"Arm?" she inquired.

"No," Jal laughed as he thought of a rhyme. "Hand."

"No hand!" she insisted, but her keen dark eyes and generous mouth were playful. She pointed emphatically at the scuffs on her hand. The commando comprehended with a sigh.

"Hurt." He pronounced carefully.

 Her hand ran the length of the rigid sleeve. "Hurt." she repeated dutifully.

Jal picked up his plastic fork and broke it in half, laying the pieces on the table. "Broken." He declared, feeling the admission on a fundamental level. The snap startled his cellmate who looked from the fragments to him, to his arm, and then her hand closed around his.

It was a surreal moment, washed away in a tumult of defeated shame and apprehensive foreboding. Yesterday, or maybe longer ago, he had assumed he would be tortured to death. Now he was trapped in an impregnable box with a strange beauty who learned quickly  and had a physical prowess he had never seen in a woman, at once both muscular and curvy. He had feared he was trapped with a wild terror from her monstrous rage, but here was her gentle touch on his hand and a look in her eyes that he felt himself plummeting into. In this of all places, here was tenderness.

He felt the need to dispel the aura of stunned silence, so he laid his hand atop hers and smiled. "Friend." he said. She repeated the word with a laugh, and he caught himself wondering how such a lovely face contained the exponential aggression he had seen earlier. Jal returned the eating utensils and trays to their place on the shelf, noting that although there must be a hatch of some sort there it was completely invisible.

When he returned to the room she ambushed him. One powerful hand pulled him off balance while she ducked and caught him across her shoulders. But instead of throwing him over or crashing him to the ground, she proceeded to squat him with a giggle. His noises of alarm and confusion caused her to mutter something in a soothing tone, and Jal consigned himself to the fact that he was now being used as a weight in her workout. Despite the awkward resting place across her broad shoulders, she was hardly bony, and when she passed her thirtieth squat with him he realised he should settle in for a long haul. He found himself wondering when she would tire, but the moment never seemed to arrive. He lost count at a hundred and fifty something. For many minutes after she continued, perspiring a little and breathing audibly but not exactly tiring or breathless. When she set him down carefully he staggered as the blood returned to his extremities, and she giggled again and held him close for support.

"Just who in the hell are you, miss?"    

She cocked her head at him, he was talking too agitatedly for her to follow, but then she swept him up in her arms and proceeded to press him overhead, which was considerably less comfortable even though her grip on him was steady. After a couple of dozen repetitions his protestations caused her to drop him into a cradle where she could curl him. She seemed to watch him as she did so, as if checking for further signs of complaint. He wasn't counting this time as the motions made him dizzy and the involuntary rigidity at being manhandled had caused his injured limbs to ache something fierce. She set him down at last and he reeled, causing her arm to shoot out and collect him to her again. He groaned, wondering whether he was dreaming and about to wake up to another round of torture instead of this unusual experience.

Instead she talked to him softly in her language, leading him by both hands away from the corner and into the centre of the room. There she lay on the floor, tugging for him to follow, and when he hesitated she shook her head and pulled behind his knees so that he dropped suddenly astride her belly. By now his loins were beginning to feel a certain anticipation and he felt acutely awkward, both in close proximity to her, and in the knowledge that they were being observed. The girl brought her knees up behind him and then pushed up from the floor with her hands and feet, bucking him into the air as her glues and abdominals took his weight up with them. She then proceeded to dip in this position, raising and lowering her pelvis with his full weight. The sudden motion caused him to grab hold of her waist for balance, which elicited yet another playful snort of laughter. He felt her firm body move beneath his hands and found himself beginning to enjoy the sensation of being in her power, now undeniably erect. He wasn't even sure she was doing it to exercise, as again it seemed to cause her little discomfort or strain.

Past a hundred reps of this, he opened his eyes to find with a bolt of horror that she was watching him. Her eyes were on his member and when they met his, he felt sure she would throw him off. But she grinned, lowered her butt to the ground, and sat upright so that her body folded around him, knees propping him up while her arms pushed her face level with his chest. He felt her heavy breasts brush against him and the gaze of those dark eyes was unfaltering and sultry. She very deliberately placed a finger on the top of the bulge in his pyjamas, smiling as he shuddered in uncomfortable apprehension.

"Hand?" She inquired quietly.

Jal felt as if he was in the eye of a storm of conflicting emotions all vying for priority. He wasn't even sure how to decline, but the prevailing feeling in his mind was that it was not only inappropriate to enjoy this, but it could be unfair too. He had no idea whether this woman even understood why she was here or for what purpose, or if she knew they were being monitored. She doubtlessly comprehended his attraction to her, but the speed with which she had progressed from hostility to intimacy was breathtaking. After a lengthy pause, tortured by her curious caressing of his cock, he took a dry gulp and took her hand gently away. "Friend." He said, carefully. "Maybe later."

She frowned in confusion, then rolled onto her belly, almost toppling him over. She looked back for him and tapped her shoulders, fishing for his hands to guide them when he hesitated. Jal assumed she wanted them rubbed and began to do so, but although she made a pleasurable noise she shrugged him off and then pushed up from the ground. He was forced to lean his weight onto her to keep his own balance. This position was not kind to his arousal either, but it was comfortable enough that he almost drifted off as she pressed their combined weight off the floor over and over again.   

Jal had never gotten involved with anyone before. The army was his life, as it was for many Dafnese soldiers, but unlike the rank and file his work as a commando rather precluded the formation of relationships and, by and large, the thought had always struck him as a bad idea. No one would be willing to tolerate his absences with the barest of explanations for long, and meanwhile he could certainly live without the doubts about what might be going on while he was deep behind enemy lines, or the potential for enemies to discover his dependents and use or retaliate against them. So it had been for the eight years of his adult life. Now he was experiencing his first moment of intimacy in the strangest of circumstances, aroused by a scenario he never imagined, with a woman he had known for less than a day and could barely communicate with.

As he became comfortable with her rhythm, his thoughts drifted to the mechanical voice watching them omnisciently. He had assumed "gaining trust" would take far, far longer, but a moment ago he almost had a sexual encounter and she seemed as comfortable around him as anyone, possibly more so if her curiosity was anything to go by. So what was the end game for their captors?
She shifted beneath him suddenly and brought her knees up to perch on her haunches. She carefully guided his arms around her neck and hitched hers beneath his legs and proceeded to rise and fall on her knees. Her strength and endurance were inhuman, there was no doubt. He didn't know anyone who could do bodyweight reps of this intensity or duration, let alone with the additional weight of another person in tow. It was clear this woman was a subject of some fascination for the Larinthians, judging both by the Vizier-General and the Jailor's reaction to her. No one seemed to give a shit about his military value as a captive. In fact, it was as if the High Value Target he and his men gave their lives to kill was barely missed or noticed. That dejecting thought was dwarfed in significance by the uneasy question of why he was being kept alive - and further, entreated to enhanced lodging with this strange but fantastic woman. He glimpsed a shadow of an idea about what was going on here, but there was still too much hidden to make it clear.

He had all but dozed off by the time she rose stiffly, still carrying him on her back, and strode toward the bed.  Sitting them both down on it she turned to look at him with a smirk. Then without a word or a gesture, she started to undress. Jal sat upright at the end of the bed and averted his eyes, only peripherally glimpsing her glistening skin.  He stood and crossed to the chairs and table, and sat down there.

"I'll sleep here. You can have the bed."

She looked bemused, and for a moment he feared her mood would wax wrathful. Her expression seemed to waver between irritation and worry. Jal rested his head on his arms and closed his eyes, hoping she would get the picture. But after a few moments he heard her bare feet on the floor and felt a hand sliding under his knees. Then he was in her arms, and he looked up at her and wondered why he ever contemplated resisting this. She blinked patiently at him, and took him back to the bed.

[ArkhamAsylum]

Great work. I'm looking forward to the next part.

[sgsg69]

Each of these story lines are well written and thoughtfully played out........can't wait for the next chapter, KARMA++ to you

[jhunter]

Interesting flow. We are going from something your started at a young age, and how you got better with time. Keep it up, the story is showing growth.

[warthog22]

Loved the new relationship, I love it that she's showing off her strengths and taking control of things. Can't wait for her to break them out of the cell and rips the Vizier General's mechanical appendages one by one

[Machao6]

<I feel odd writing this, but every time I think I'm going way off the deep end with it you guys have dropped really supportive comments. I'm glad you're enjoying it. I've worked out a tentative new rhythm and figure I can add a post every couple of weeks or so for the time being. My inspiration comes and goes unfortunately but lockdown is leaving me with more time to get bits done.>

It wasn't the easiest night's sleep he had ever had, but it was enjoyable. Her easy might controlled him utterly, but her only demand seemed to be that his hands be on her body somewhere at all times. She responded to his apprehension gently, each stroke of a hand across his body and each squeeze of her arms around him inviting him to reciprocate. It took every shred of willpower to refrain from accepting her ultimate offering, which he eventually managed by blithely snuggling into her chest and pretending to fall asleep. If his aversion annoyed her then, she did not show it.

* * * * *

He awoke alone in the bed, and rising reluctantly, saw that she was already exerting herself again on the floor, one-handed pushups into the dozens. He ruffled her hair as he crossed the floor to the bathroom. As he brushed his teeth he reminded himself he was a prisoner, with a pang of resentment that felt uninvited after last night. Had it only been one day? The mirror, as if hearing his thoughts, displayed bright blue writing for him to read;

"Excellent work obeying your last instructions. By my calculations you have achieved trust faster than 97.2% of previous experimental couplings. Unsure if this speaks to your capacity for social manipulation, or your cellmate's protective instincts. We will explore this in our next assignment.
Your task is to achieve the following:
i) perform an action that is self-harmful so her response can be observed.
ii) Demonstrate control over the amazon in the following ways:
Convince - altering her course of action from what she has decided to do using reason to make a stronger case for your own course of action.
Command - Order her to do something in a manner that leaves no ambiguity as to your authority. 
Suggest - Appeal to her priorities to change her course of action.
Threaten - compel her to act through force or distinct implication of consequence.

Breakfast is served. I look forward to collecting more data from you.
- Midas"

Jal's mouth dropped as he struggled to comprehend the supposed instructions. Not only were they perverse and contrary to their wellbeing, but he didn't rate his chances of exerting any kind of 'control' over his cellmate even if he felt inclined to oblige their captors' whims.

Shaking his head, Jal proceeded to ignore the instructions for the whole day. They resumed their language exchange, naughtier now owing to the fast familiarity they were acquiring about one another's bodies. He quickly realised she did not take kindly to being called "minnowa-may", which is what he thought she had said when they painstakingly exchanged names the previous day. He was sure he was repeating what he had heard her say, so determined this wasn't a name but something that couldn't be explained by pointing at things. Whenever she fancied a break from their piecemeal conversations, she would excitedly lead him to the open floor and proceed to workout some more, a different range of motion each time. He couldn't decide if she was showing off to him, or had some kind of compulsion, or perhaps it was simply the only way she knew to pass the time here. She seemed to enjoy the fact that it aroused him, but displayed a disciplined focus on her meticulous form and unbelievable repetitions.

Jal carefully tried some exercise of his own but quickly realised his limbs were still fragile and not fully healed yet. He found himself contemplating the instructions and trying to guess what the enemy were after. The Jailor had exclaimed something about a 'Sacred Bond'...and from that he could infer they were examining the relationships between whatever people this powerful woman hailed from, and others. Why wouldn't they just use their own personnel though? Why go through all the rigmarole of getting other prisoners to do it? Were the Larinthians really so arrogant and sadistic that they simply chose to exert this kind of control? Yes, he answered himself, for they were a slave-taking and brutal conqueror. It was entirely possible this was all just the Fabricator-General's weird fantasy, and that his fate had changed hands from the Jailor to the homunculus on his walking pedestal. All the more reason to ignore them and see what happens.

By dinner time his nameless cellmate had realised how the meals were served through an automated hatch and poised, waiting to interfere with it when it opened. She managed to delay, but not prevent it from closing, but the confined space and awkward angle made it impossible to properly gain leverage. It was only after she had smashed her hands ineffectually onto the shelving in a fit of frustration that he realised she had been gritting her teeth through electrocution. Strands of her hair stood on end, giving her breathless, snarling form an ethereal quality while her muscles glistened from the dew of her exertions. Jal cautiously took her hand in his and led her away from there, noting with a pang of elation how she calmed to his touch and gaze.

There was no dinner forthcoming after that, and she seemed guilty about it for the rest of their day, throwing herself into more exercise and this time eschewing his company until he tapped her on the shoulder and jerked his head towards the bed. Somehow they managed without words a conversation that needed to be had about their situation and how she needn't feel bad about trying to get out of this place. It was a dialogue of touches and kisses. This time she fell asleep resting her head on his chest, and Jal did not sleep for a long time as he contemplated what would come of this development and his silent campaign of resistance.

The following day there was another message on the mirror: "Further attempts to interfere with your confines will be met with escalating measures. No food will be served until you complete the assignment given to you yesterday, as follows..." Wherein the message repeated the previous instructions.

It wasn't the prospect of hunger that set Jal's mind unsteady about his course. Between lunch and dinner he realised that his cellmate had no idea that the food stoppage was his fault, not hers. He watched her attacking herself in her workouts, until the sweat was dripping and her recovery came in desperate, shuddering breaths. She wouldn't meet his eye. Yet how to explain? He interrupted her twice to try and gesticulate and charade what was going on, but she only recognised that he was trying to say *something* about food and that seemed to make her mood worse as she kissed his hands and returned to her flagellation on the floor.

The commando thought about the perverse instructions the mirror had given about the different methods of control he had to demonstrate, and with an incredulous smirk an idea came to him.
Taking a deep breath, he walked past her so that she would be conscious of him at the edge of her vision and clapped his hands sharply.

The sudden sound made her look up from her planking. He raised his hand, palm flat towards the ceiling, for her to rise. She did so. Then he jerked his head toward the bathroom and started walking, breathing a silent sigh of relief to hear her follow. He crossed to the shower, opened it and switched it on, then took off his shirt. The amazon looked from him, to the shower, then back again and her lips parted as if to say something but then he was motioning for her to undress as he was. Jal braved the confusion to start lifting her top and she let him, raising her arms and letting him pull the damp garment over her head. Her brown hair clung to the moisture on her neck and shoulders as her proud breasts settled into their new freedom.

Jal's heart was racing. He had expected this powerhouse to object, to kick against him, to refuse and resist. He realised with mounting excitement that she was obliging him as he took off his trousers and she her shorts. Then they were naked, facing each other, and she held his gaze waiting for his next instruction. He looked toward the shower and she led him by the hand, leading him onto her, and underneath the hot spray they fell upon one another as the famished to a feast.

A range of conflicting emotions ran through Jal's mind, but all were overpowered by the wonderful sensation of being lifted up against her body, of her eager, excited kisses and her crushing strength around his waist. There was so much wrong about their situation, not least that they were under observation, but somehow his desire and her power overcame even these bottomless doubts. She suspended him not only physically, but emotionally, pushing him through the mental barriers and onto uncharted, unexplored possibilities he had been denying. His had been a spartan life of deprivation and discipline, and now in the space of a few short days, and here a few short minutes, everything he knew about himself was being ripped asunder by an amazon.

Perhaps it was his control that had brought this about, but he didn't feel like he was in control as she positioned him between her legs, still holding his full weight in her arms. With her hands around his buttocks she eased him in while he made the fine corrections, and then he was clinging to her shoulders for dear life as they both found a rhythm and hammered away. Their skin was slippery and though he felt as though he was losing his grip on her, she held him fast to her body and finally he let himself rely totally on her strength and leaned back in utter ecstasy as she crammed him into herself again and again. Her short, gutteral breaths became audible grunts and stifled moans while he struggled to stay focused. Jal forced himself to remember some of the meditative discipline he had learned to resist torture, just barely keeping from escaping the build up. She had to enjoy this. She deserved to. Her noises had become a near-continuous murmur of ecstasy as she exerted herself beneath and around and above him. Her eyes were closed and her face was enraptured but her balance remained totally secure and then she suddenly gasped and shook all over. Her shuddering finally got the best of Jal and he let himself go, writhing in her grip as they came together.

She let herself lean his weight against the wall of the shower cubicle and then laughed breathlessly. His injured limbs ached. He kissed her lips, her head, her neck. Still she refused to put him down, until his feet had pins and needles and her head rested on his shoulder. Then she carefully let him escape, and they washed each other, giggling. 

It was a long shower. When they emerged, dinner had been served through the hatch along with fresh towels. Jal snorted scornfully, and they accepted their captors' hospitality and ate in contented silence. Whatever had just happened, it seemed to have satisfied the conditions of his assignment, and this only added weight to his suspicion that the Vizier General was nothing more than a voyeur.

After the satisfaction of sex subsided, Jal felt pangs of guilt gnawing at him as he lay in bed with the amazon ,cuddling. His earlier inhibitions about taking advantage of this situation, about adding to the littany of wrongs that had engulfed this woman, all of that had gone out of the window now. What did that make him? And the knowledge that this...whatever it was, this closeness, this connection, was approved of by the enemy gave him a sense of tremendous unease.

What were they looking for? If they had seen fit to reward them by reinstating the food schedule, did that mean he had done as he was asked and exerted control over his beautiful cellmate? What about the rest of his assignment? As much as his limbs ached after the sex he very much doubted it counted as a self-harming act. An idea occurred to him about that part of the instructions and he decided to sleep on that idea rather than the cloying doubts.

* * * * * * * * * * *

[Sok]

Thanks for a terrible Monday at work Mach. I started this story way too late and lost too much sleep because I just had to finish it. Cannot wait for the next installment!

[ArkhamAsylum]

Yet another great chapter. Excellent work.